Silver
by TheeMizKitty
Summary: Good and evil, light and dark, right and wrong. Lines begin to blur. Judgment begins to unwind. It all starts with a young girl.


SILVER

By: TheeMizKitty

_Prologue: Forbidden Love_

It is dark as he sneaks into her room; under the heavenly sky, everything about him is revealed starkly. She is sitting on her bed. She does not look shocked to see him; she has been waiting for him, and at the sight of him now her breath catches in her throat. He is everything new to her; an entirely different world as he straightens in front of her, and his blue eyes—so dark and deep—penetrate into her own.

And just like always, she finds herself breathless in his presence. Just like always she stands, mesmerized, and moves towards him, into the circle of his deadly arms. One flick of his wrist and she could be dead. One scream from her and he could be arrested and executed.

"I didn't think you would come," she whispers into the front of his tunic, the silken fabric muffling her words. "I was so scared that you wouldn't be able to find your way here."

For a second he says nothing, only continues to hold her. He is reluctant to speak, as he only wants to bask in her presence. It has been too long.

"Your father has definitely installed more…security around the castle," he concedes at length. "There are many guards patrolling the halls."

She stiffens some, and he can feel her indignation as it rises up in her. "My father is a fool," she spits, and her arms rise up to wrap around his neck. He allows her to pull away to stare up at him, and in her starlit pools he can see his own reflection. "He is a fool."

He wants to agree with her, on some level. When she looks at him like that, he really wants to agree with her. "He is only trying to protect you," he whispers, tenderly raising a hand. "He knows how severe this is. With what I am, with what you are…" With the softest of touches he skims his hand over the feathers on her back. She inhales sharply, and her grip on him tightens almost desperately.

"I don't care about that," she replies softly, "I never have. I know what you are, what I am, but…By the light, it does not change my feelings for you. I don't think anything ever really will."

He closes his eyes at her words, both pleased and horrified by them. He is so happy that she wants to be with him, but at the same time there is dread stirring inside of him. Things would be so much easier if she just pushed him away.

"Don't say that…"

"Why not?" she insists, and against his callused hand she makes the wings move.

"Anything could happen," he exhales, "Anything at all. Don't…ever use the word ever. Please."

He rarely ever says please. In his world, saying such a word can never happen. In his world, his voice is never this soft nor his eyes so gentle. His world could only ever be the opposite of her world.

"I can use it whenever I like," she protests, still so gently. He can feel her growing cold in his arms. "Or are you, like my father, trying to control me too?"

He is weary as he looks at her, and pulling her close he sighs into her golden hair. "I could never control you," he mutters, "You're too headstrong for that. I'm surprised you ever even listen to your father at all."

She smiles slightly against his chest, leaning into him. "Yes well, I have to, don't I? It's 'proper behavior'. And it's to be expected of me."

She does not have to say anymore; although they come from separate worlds, some things are the same. Royalty means entirely too much.

They hold each other in silence for what feels like eternity, and could very well have been. Eternity is not far out of reach for a demon and an angel, it's only ever a matter of reaching it.

They always try to reach eternity within one another. Eternity does not seem like enough.

At length he had to speak, simply because he knew that everything around her ran in a matter of time. There was time, and it has never been enough, ever.

"Why did you want to see me? You know that security has increased, so what is so important…?"

He does not mean to sound impatient, he does not mean to sound rude. She does not hold it against him. She can tell that understand that impatience is fear, and underneath all his harshness he is concerned. It would be too risky to let her see that. She understands, somehow, and she forgives him for it. She holds him closer to her body.

"It's my father, actually. I know that you fear him, on some level—who wouldn't?—but I think the time has come to tell him about us. He…deserves to know."

She can feel his breath shudder over her and knows what he must be thinking, what he must be feeling. She wants to reassure him, but she finds herself holding her tongue and waiting, just waiting, to try to see if his reaction would be different, hoping that maybe her prediction might just be wrong.

"He'll kill me."

"I won't let him."

"He'll forbid me from ever seeing you again."

"How can he? I too have say in this kingdom love."

"It's not enough."

"It will have to be."

They have had this conversation before, lightly, in the past. Back when times weren't so difficult. Back when there was no shadow growing in the west.

She is more adamant than usual, he dully notices, as at last he releases her, steps away from her to look at her completely. He is sizing her up. He takes in her clear eyes, her soft expression, and swallows hard.

"You are serious…" he mutters, and her laughter is tinkling.

"Of course I am. He needs to know," she replies simply, so simply. Too simply. Somewhere in his chest, suspicion twists.

"Why?" he asks, his eyes suddenly pinning her. "Why do you want to tell him now? What makes this time any different?"

He watches intently as she holds his gaze for a moment before looking away, her shoulders sagging as her wings fall to almost touch the floor. His heart twists as she turns from him and walks over to the window he entered through, her eyes scanning the grounds. When she talks she talks into the night air.

"I wanted to tell both of you together, actually."

He stares at her back incrudously. "Together? My dearest…that is simply not possible."

She tenses, and he can see by her reflection in the glass window that she is clenching her jaw, biting her lip. "Why isn't it?"

"Because of who we are," he says simply. He is now the one to speak simply. "An angel and a demon just don't sit down and talk—"

"And an angel and a demon usually don't fall in love, now do they?"

He winces slightly, happy that her back is turned to him so that she can not see the flash of sorrow on his face. He looks away from her back, her pure white wings, to stare down at his hands, huge devices pointed with claws, the palms and fingers rough from the use of a sword. He can almost see all the blood that covers his hands in the pale night of heaven, and he can not look away. He can not deny it any longer.

"Maybe…" he speaks carefully, his eyes still on his hands. "Maybe it was all a mistake then."

He does not have to look up to know that her face is paling, to know that her eyes are clouding. When she speaks, her voice hitches. "Mistake…?"

He gathers courage, he gathers the demonic strength—that cold, unfeeling thing—that he has always left behind around her, that he has always all but forgotten about. "We aren't meant to be together," he says. "It's against nature."

"Since when have you cared about that?" she replies and her voice is subdued, quiet. The calm before the storm. "If I recall correctly, you were the one who first kissed me."

They both remember that day, when his lips had met hers beneath the cherry trees. They remember that day because it was when this dangerous addiction had started and when, for the first time in centuries, as soon as their lips had locked, they had felt something new. They had felt something that had been nonexistent until them, buried under the normalcy of both of their worlds.

They had felt the rush of danger, the heady feeling of excitement and, above all, the joy of happiness. It had been like they had finally, at long last, found what they had wanted their whole lives. And they had not been willing to let that happiness go.

"So what has changed?" she asks him now, months after that deadly first kiss. "What has suddenly made you change your mind? My father?"

Her tone is cynical. She knows that that is it, and for the first time she hates him as much as she hates her father. He does not respond; he can not deny the truth.

"My father," she repeats, "You're giving me up for my father." No longer a question, but a statement, a fact. Her wings tremble slightly on her back.

"Funny," she scoffs through the pain in her chest. "I always thought demons were supposed to be strong, brave and all that. One angel takes that all away from you?"

Demons are proud creatures; they don't want to be sometimes, but they are. And so he is unable to stop himself from fighting her, even as he foresees the consequences.

"Never," he snarls, "But even you must admit that your father is no ordinary angel! He has jurisdiction over this land and he is all powerful—"

"So are you," she responds with acid in her voice. "Or does my presence make you forget who you are?"

"I never once stop seeing my claws compared to your wings," he growls, "never once. How can I forget who I am when I am constantly hunted as soon as I enter this realm? It only serves to remind me time and time again that this is wrong!"

"It is not wrong!" she cries furiously, unaware of how loud her voice has grown to be as she turns around, in a rustle of feathers, to meet his stare evenly. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. They burn with unmistakable fire. "Love is not wrong!"

"Well our love certainly isn't 'right', now is it?" he growls back, "Sometimes I don't even know what we are—"

He cuts himself off as he sees the tears falling down her face, and although he wants to go to her, although his heart is demanding that he go and catch her tears and kiss them away, he stays rooted to the spot. Demons were not supposed to have hearts; Demons were never supposed to rely on feelings. Where had he strayed?

He can only clench his hands into fists at his sides and look away from her, from her tears, her large, clear eyes. He had always strayed to her.

"What we are?" she repeats frigidly, and he can hear in her voice her heart breaking. His, unbidden, breaks too. "What we are, or at least I thought, is two people in love. Or does your demon pride condemn you to take that back now? Does your fear of my father still your heart?"

He continues to look away from her, down at the floor. Her anguish fills the room. It goes beyond both of them to spread throughout the castle. Wings flutter in concern.

"No, I…I never lied. I never lied about…loving you."

She wants to feel happiness at his words; instead she can only feel more pain. "But what does that matter?" she whispers to him, "Loving me means nothing in the face of your role, of my role. Of my father."

"You don't understand the importance—"

"I understand it perfectly!" she almost yells. "I am not slow witted; I knew the consequences of getting involved with you perfectly well! But it didn't matter to me, it still doesn't matter to me!"

"Why?" he finds himself speaking almost desperately, and he raises his anguished eyes to her tear strewn face. His eyes search hers with an intensity they had only ever shared before through kisses. "Why doesn't it matter to you?"

She looks at him, and her face is almost pitying. "You demons," she says softly, so that he can barely hear her, even with his advanced hearing. "You understand so little, don't you? There are things much stronger than hate and power and wealth, my demon."

He knows what she wants to say; he can see it in her fiery eyes, hovering around her trembling lips. He can feel it in the beat of his heart. "Love," he stated, "You believe that love is the strongest thing of all."

"Yes. Are you against that?"

He looks at her, takes in her petite frame, her long light hair, her soft, gentle eyes. His eyes linger over the white wings folded at her back. "I do not know. I did not know until you that I was capable of love."

"All beings are. It's only a matter of finding love."

"And keeping it," he adds, just because he knows that she can not. "Finding love means little when that love can not be kept. When it is not…strong enough."

She stilled completely, and her eyes are wide and potent as she looks at him. She looks at him as though she has never seen him before. "Strong enough?" she repeats blankly. "Is that what you think? That our love…is not strong enough to endure?"

He does not need to say it; she can tell just by looking at him. Her lips thin, her shoulders shake. She wraps her arms around herself and looks away from him, but he does not miss the pain flashing in her eyes. "I see," she says softly, with a calmness that makes him flinch. "You think that our love is doomed."

"Of course it is," he replies, and his voice is as soft as it has ever been. He takes an imploring step towards her. She does not look up. "We are too different. How many times do I have to tell you…? What is between us can only ever cause pain, to ourselves and others. I could not…bear it if anything happened to you because of me."

She is silent for the longest time and he can feel her thinking, feel her emotions as they swirl through her slim frame with abandon, all her defenses down, lost between their exchanges. So enthralled and focused on her, even with his demonic senses he does not hear the footsteps approaching her door, does not hear the urgent mutterings. Love is a blinding pain.

At length she speaks as she turns her back on him, facing the window once again. It is just past midnight, she thinks. "Even in the most forbidden of loves good can be produced. Even in wrong there can be right."

He does not understand her; she is holding something back. He does not think as he moves towards her, as he presses his hands to her shoulders. She goes tense under his touch.

"What do you mean?" he whispers into her ear, urgently, insanely. "What do you mean?"

She turns in his arms, her eyes blazing, her face hard, just as the sound of splintering wood splits the air, and all at once they both remember the castle, and he returns to his senses. Her words die on her lips as she grows pale, her eyes—once so bright and flaming—dulling as they focus on a point over his shoulder.

He has only a moment to try to follow her gaze before he is being thrown away from her, her warmth slipping away from him, and into a nearby stone wall. The crash of when he hits it resonates.

There are voices in his ear, snarling at him; he is too shocked to overpower them as they bind his hands together, clawed nails digging into the flesh of his own palms. He can not understand what is happening; how could it be happening? For so long they had been so careful. Now he was being pushed around, feathers and sneering faces taking up his vision.

"We caught him," he hears one of them say. "We caught the demonic bastard."

Far off, he hears her shrill voice. "What is the meaning of this!? I demand that you let him go!" Even with her command the ropes don't loosen; the hands on his arms holding him in place seem to tighten.

"I am sorry milady, but we can not. He is a danger to you."

"No he's not!" she insists, even though she knows that it is hopeless. She watches her forbidden love go slack in his captive hold. "Please," she all but whispers, turning her eyes on each of the guards. They look at her incrudously. They have never heard their princess beg, never less to do so for a demon. They are flabbergasted, and she tries to take advantage of it.

"Please let him go, he was not causing me any harm. Let him return back to his realm, please."

One of the guards tries to find his voice. "B-But your highness!—your father!—"

"I'll deal with my father. In fact, he does not even need to know that he was here!"

But it is too late for that; they all know it, including the demon wrapped in chains. By now more guards are arriving, her room is filling up. There are mad whispers, startled looks, angry looks. She is becoming desperate. "My father won't know," she repeats, "No one will tell him…"

"But he already knows," said a voice from the doorway, and inside two bodies from opposite beings two hearts simultaneously died. The demon did not look up as the king of heaven approached him; he did not lift his head as radiance filled the room that nearly blinded him, burned him with its heat. When the great king stopped before him and he could see the edge of his long white robes he allowed himself to try to breathe again, wondering how long for it to take before he breathed his final breath. It would not be long, he was sure.

"What is the meaning of this?" the king's voice bounces around the room, deadly in how soft and deceivingly gentle it is. His daughter winces but slowly, setting her jaw, steps forward.

"I am father," she answers, and there are more stirrings as the guards shift, as the king's silver eyes fall on her. He is momentarily speechless. King Dywn has seen many things in his immortal life, and yet the sight of his daughter standing before him, defending a demon… It robbed him of all speech and, for a long moment, sense.

"What…?" he tries to start but ends up stopping, shaking his head slowly. "What do you mean by this, daughter?"

"I mean exactly as it looks like. I am the one who allowed this demon into my room; I am the one who invited him into our castle. He is our guest, and you are being very rude to him."

For a moment the great angel continues to stare at his daughter, slightly amazed at how nonchalant she suddenly looks. But behind her bright eyes, so alike his, he can see her fear, and it gives him all his power back. Power is drawn from fear just as fear is drawn from power.

"Our guest…?" King Dywn repeats slowly, testing out the words. "You dare say that this demon is our guest?"

If things had been different, she would have backed down long ago. If this demon had not held her heart she would have said nothing at all. But just as power can be drawn from fear it also can be drawn from love.

She holds her chin up high as she addresses him, her back straight, her eyes looking right into his. "Yes, he is my guest."

The guards stir at this, startled that the princess is actually standing up to her father. Everyone knew that this would not end well. The demon starts to look up, his eyes widening as he stares over at his secret love. She could not mean--?

"Why is he our guest?" the great king of heaven asks in a voice so low that it is nearly a growl. The atmosphere grows thick. "Tell me, daughter."

Still her head did not lower, still she looks him in the eye. She is trembling slightly but she ignores it, pressing her hands to the front of her silken dress. The fabric slides through her fingers.

"This demon is special, my father because he is dear to me. Because I can not bear to think of anything happening to him. Because, despite what he is, I…love this demon."

And there is; the truth at long last. King Dywn could not have looked more startled at that moment, his face paling as he fought to maintain composure. He suddenly began to look at his daughter as though seeing her for the first time, his eyes intently flickering over her face as though searching for a lie, searching for a loophole in her convicting words.

From his position between the shocked guards the demon groans, even as in his heart he can not help but feel some happiness. At least the truth is known, but unfortunately he knew now that that truth would cost him his life.

At length the great angel began to find words, his shock rapidly becoming replaced by anger, by incredulity. King Dywn was considered to be the wisest being of all the heavens, and yet he can not accept the words coming from his daughter's mouth, can not understand a feeling as simple as love.

No one seems to understand love anymore, but for the angel and her captive demon. Even if said demon could not know the extent of his feelings for her.

"Surely you jest," King Dywn states flatly. His tone brooks for no argument.

His daughter's wings, so light, so like his, flutter once. "No father. I love him."

"_Him?_" the king repeats slowly, and within the princess's room the air starts to crackle with energy. The demon flinches but keeps his eyes trained intently on his beloved. He can not look away from her, not when her face is set in so much determination, even in the face of her father's power, his rage.

"Yes father. Him."

The king lets out one long breath that, oddly, sounds like a hiss. "He is a demon."

"I know that he is." She is calm.

"It is forbidden!" He is furious.

"I do not care. You can not control love, father, you know this. He's a demon—"

"And not just any demon!" the lord angel snaps, and his eyes, so silver and pure, begin to glow with power. "He is a demon _prince._"

She is nonplussed. In fact, one could say that now her gaze seems to hold some small dose of pity as she looks at her father, at his glowing eyes. She smiles tightly. "Well, at least he's nobility."

The king can not comprehend her words. He can not believe that she dare joke about this matter, and he wants her to take all her words back. The guards say nothing; they are still shocked as the king, unwilling to yell at his daughter, despite his rage unwilling to dare hurt her, turns to the demon in fury.

"You!" he spits, and his body begins to glow a faint white. "You did this!"

The demon winces, and slowly lifts weary blue eyes to the king of heaven's silver ones. Is it possible for white to be dark? The demon can only ponder this under the fury of King Dywn, and the chains—magic that demons can not break through—tighten around his wrists painfully.

The demon chooses wisely to say nothing; he is really at a loss for words. The king continues when he does not speak, his tone heavy with power, anger, and a darkness that he should not have possessed.

"You have bewitched her with your demonic charm!" he snarls, reaching out a hand that cackles with white sparks to the demon's exposed throat in a threat. The demon wills himself not to show fear as his face remains impassive. "I demand that you release her now!"

Angels should not have a mean bone in their body; to think of an angel angry seems ridiculous. To think of an angel inflicting pain seems impossible. But angels, for all their purity, hold nothing back when it comes to their dark counterparts, to the beings that hold their sinister halves. Or have the sinister halves ever left the angels at all?

As King Dywn's hand, glowing with all the energy of the holy, connected with the tainted pale skin of the demon's neck, the lines between right and wrong blur. The demon forces himself not to scream as his flesh is scalded beneath aristocratic fingertips, marking him, burning into him until there is no point of reprieve—

The demon had thought that the king would simply purify him completely right then. In fact the king really would have if interference had not come in the form of the princess herself.

The sight of her father's hand burning into the delicate skin of her beloved is too much for her to bear. Launching herself at her father before the guards could think of stopping her, she brings her hand up and pushes her father away from the demon with all her energy, causing the king's power to ebb as he stumbled under her weight. The demon, with harsh breathing, slumps down so that he is only held up by the guards and the chains as the king catches his daughter and looks down at her with wide, accusing eyes. A snarl begins to form on his lips.

"Daughter you—"

Her face lifts up to him then, and whatever had been on the king's tongue is lost at the sight of perfect tears streaming down her cheeks from her eyes, eyes so like his—

Unbidden his gaze softens, his amazement returns. He has never been able to stand the sight of his daughter in tears. Her pain fills the room as she looks up at him, her father, not with imploring eyes but with eyes thick with anger, with eyes rimmed with resolution.

The room is frozen. The demon trains his blurred eyes on his beloved's feathered back, his chest rising and falling, rising and falling.

"You will not harm him," she whispers fiercely, and her eyes burn just as her father's do. For a moment the king looks uncertain.

When the princess speaks again, her voice is like a crystal bell that keeps ringing and ringing and ringing. Words so simple, and yet words that impact the entirety of the future.

"Father, I'm pregnant."

Good and evil begin to fade away.

* * *


End file.
